


Kitsch

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [247]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A bit AU, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:16:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: kitsch: noun: kich: tawdry, vulgarized, or pretentious art, literature, etc, usually with popular or sentimental appeal1926, from German kitsch, literally "gaudy, trash," from dialectal kitschen "to smear."





	

There were times when John wondered that there was enough room for the two of them in the flat, for 'all the kitsch' that adorned their walls, tables and bookcases. Of course he would never say it aloud in Sherlock's presence, as his friend and occasional bed mate (when he bothered to go to bed) could give a detailed history of each and every knickknack that would go on for days.

Of course, John had to admit, he did sometimes add to the collection. After he had recovered from what he had dubbed the 'Blind Banker' case, he couldn't resist going back to the shop and purchasing a 'Lucky Cat' for his 'wife.' And of course, he was at least partly, all right, mostly responsible for Sherlock's pilfering of the crystal ashtray that was currently collecting dust next to the skull. Not exactly kitschy in itself, John mused as he ran his fingers over it, and for a moment, he recalled Sherlock's laughter as he revealed his act of larceny. 

"Remember that afternoon? Before we infiltrated Ms. Adler's lair..." John's thoughts stopped as Sherlock's deep rumble was suddenly at his ear. All he could do was nod. When they had returned from the Palace, John had all but tackled Sherlock once the door to the flat had closed. He couldn't remember wanting anyone as much as he had wanted Sherlock at that moment.

"Is your brother right?" John had murmured, as he popped open the first five buttons on Sherlock's black shirt.

"You're bringing up my brother NOW?" Sherlock huffed, as he was leaning against the wall trying to catch his breath.

"I need to know if 'sex alarms you?' Have you ever -"

"No, not with someone that I lov - no."

"Has anyone ever kissed you - have you ever kissed anyone?"

"John, stop talking. NOW. And what happened to 'NOT GAY' hmmm?"

"Never said I was completely straight. Thought you would've deduced that by now."

"Damn. Please, John. Just -"

 

"Yeah, how could I forget?"

"She knew."

"Of course she did, it was hard to miss the love bite, uhm, bites. And it is, uhm, was her profession."

"You know."

"Of course." John shrugged. "I did the math after I met with Mycroft that afternoon; I recalled a weekend when you disappeared. Lestrade didn't know where you were, even your brother was looking for you."

"But you -"

"I always made some excuse; told him you were in the shower, or in the middle of an experiment or getting your haircut. I told you I wasn't stupid."

"I never said you were."

"Any plans today? Anything to blow up or microwave, or dissect perhaps?" John turned away from the mantelpiece and gazed into his detective's smiling eyes.

"Hmmm....nope. You?"

"Nothing jumps to mind..."

"Perhaps...?"

John smiled that smile that could bring Sherlock to his knees. "Perhaps."


End file.
